


Walsh

by EvertheOptimistWaywardAF



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minor Injuries, POV Original Character, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvertheOptimistWaywardAF/pseuds/EvertheOptimistWaywardAF
Summary: Supernatural often follows the perspective of Sam and Dean through the show. Instead, this episode takes place from the perspective of a doctor working for the British Men of Letters who interacts with Jack and Sam while they're captured at a secret underground bunker in England. Jack, Sam, Cas, and Dean from the perception of someone who has never met them before and has no idea what's in store when dealing with the Winchester family.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Walsh

“Dean Winchester… Level F. Sam Winchester… Level E. Angel… Level D,” Greenwood said, checking his notes. “Are you ready to move them?”  
“We’ve sedated Sam Winchester,” Payne said. “We’re still struggling to separate the older Winchester from the angel.”  
“Gas him.”  
“The issue is that the Winchester’s adrenaline levels are extremely high. Adding additional drugs into his system may be harmful at this point-”  
“I don’t care what you do. We need them processed and sent to the correct level,” Greenwood said. He looked to Doctor Walsh, who was standing in the corner quietly. “Walsh, would you please assist Payne as he is apparently unable to do this job?”  
“Dean Winchester will eventually become tired and then we can sedate him.”  
“Did you not hear me?”  
“I’ve heard you, Director Greenwood, but your team already failed to sedate Dean Winchester at the correct time and managed to shoot one of the subjects in the neck instead of the shoulder which could have killed it. Any interruptions we expirience will be because of the team’s failure to do their job properly.”  
“Go, then. Go be a doctor,” Greenwood said dismissively. Walsh immediately walked out of the room and to the elevator, pressing the button for Level A. He descended into the depths of the fortress, clicking his penlight on and off. When he entered the operation room, he snapped his fingers and the other scrub clad Men of Letters left. He didn’t want them around. They were only a liability at this point.  
“I apologize, little one,” Walsh said softly, looking down at Subject 1319. It was entirely still other than it’s chest moving up and down slowly, shaking slightly. Struggling to breath correctly in the oxygen mask. Throat bandaged. Walsh felt irritation rising as he snapped his gloves in place. He now had to remove the tracker from the poor thing’s throat. It was difficult to remove, especially as it wasn’t meant to be removed. Thankfully the sedative hadn’t burst so it was easier to remove than usual. He carefully pulled it out, the tracker still blinking with it’s sharp hook still holding onto tissue. He cleaned the wound and applied new bandages, and then picked up the tracker gun and carefully pointed it into the upper arm.  
“This will hurt,” Walsh said. He pulled the trigger. The hiss, a release of air, was deafening for a second. 1319 winced, it’s arm pulling against the straps. Walsh wondered if it knew where it was, or what had happened. It didn’t seem to. It looked at him hazily, pain and fear on it’s face. A look of a deer in the headlights, or a tortured dog. “It’s all over now. It’s alright. Do you have a name?”  
1319 mouthed something, but nothing came out. It’s eyes were filled with tears.  
“Don’t worry. I’m going to give you something to calm you,” Walsh said. “You’re going to feel like you’re going to sleep, alright? And tomorrow you’re going to wake up feeling a lot better.”  
1319 struggled, tears falling down it’s face. Walsh felt sorry but he knew it didn’t matter. It only looked human. It wasn’t really. 

“Good morning, Doctor Walsh,” Miss Cole said. Walsh stopped to scan his card.  
“Do they need me anywhere this morning?”  
“Well, they’ve managed to separate the Winchester from the angel,” Cole said. “The angel is still unconscious but uninjured. It seems to be that it overexerted it’s power but it should be making a recovery.”  
“Is 1319 awake?”  
“Yep. I’m calling him Tom.”  
“Tom?”  
“I dunno, it’s better than 1319 or it, you know?”  
“Yes, I suppose.”  
“You had a different name?”  
“No. Tom is perfectly good,” Walsh said. “Did you see him?”  
“Not in person. I’ve only seen photos. Can’t believe they shot him in the neck.”  
“It would be a better world if you were leading the jump team,” Walsh sighed. “Good day.”  
“Oh, good day, Doctor Walsh.” 

“Good morning, Walsh,” Greenwood said. He was sitting in Walsh’s office, his 5 o’ clock shadow showing. Walsh grimaced as he sat down at his desk. “I need you to sit in on an interrogation. 1340. The younger Winchester brother.”  
“Why?”  
“He’s not being helpful. We already interrogated him last night but he was unwilling to give up any information. I want to try something a little brash.”  
“You want me to give him drugs.”  
“Exactly, Walsh. The other doctors didn’t seem too interested in it but since you’ve been working with these-”  
“I’m not working with the Winchesters. That’s Payne’s job. I’m working with 1319.”  
“Tom. Yes. I heard he got named.” Greenwood said. “Well... I’m the director of this department and I need you to help me with the Winchesters. If you don’t, I’ll give Tom to somebody else. Maybe… Doctor Oliver?”  
“Fine. As long as I get Tom. Permanently.”  
“Great,” Greenwood said. “We’re doing the interrogation in twenty. Hopefully enough time to check on Tom?”  
“That’s fine,” Walsh said bitterly. He grabbed his supplies and went to the elevator, descending to level A once again. He walked quickly down the hall to the very end, swiping his card. After finally getting through the layers of protection, he opened the final door and set his bag down. The room was clean now. There was no more blood. 1319- or Tom- was still strapped into the surgical bed.  
“Hello, Tom,” Walsh said. The boy looked confused, barely able to move his head under the metal that was keeping him in place. His bandage had been removed, only a red line left from yesterday’s injury. Tom was a fast healer. “Can you speak?”  
Tom struggled, ignoring him. Walsh walked over to the bed, carefully releasing the metal that had been keeping Tom in place. Tom stared at him as he pulled the straps loose. Under the straps, Tom’s wrists were red and bruised. He must have been struggling since he woke up. As soon as he was freed, Tom sprinted to the corner of the room, looking up at Walsh with concerned blue eyes.  
“It’s alright, Tom. My name is James Walsh. My friends call me Jimmy. We don’t know your name so we’re calling you Tom for now. I just want to be your friend.”  
“...” Tom opened his mouth, an expression that read ‘get away’ on his face.  
“I was hoping your voice would be back this morning,” Walsh said. “I’m so sorry they did that to you. I know it hurts.”  
Tom looked down at his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. Walsh reached into his bag and pulled out a coat. Tom stared at it.  
“I found a new coat for you. It looks similar to the one you were wearing when they brought you in last night. I know the hospital garb isn’t fun.” Walsh said, setting it on the floor. The boy waited for him to step back and then pulled it toward himself, putting it on. “I have to go, but I’ll be back with food. Do you liked grilled cheese?”  
Tom nodded.  
“Great. I’ll have them make one for you,” Walsh said. “I’ll be back soon. Bye.”  
“B…” Tom said, his voice barely above a whisper. Walsh smiled. 

“Get me your worst,” Greenwood said. Payne looked angry, his dark hair slicked back, his nose pointed down toward the floor.  
“Worst how? What do you need?”  
“Neither of the Winchesters respond to physical torture. I need you to mess them up. Mentally.”  
“Have you thought about leveraging the fact that we have the brother too? We could let them see each other in exchange for information.”  
“No. I don’t want them together. This one is more powerful,” Greenwood said. “From what we’ve heard, this Winhcester is the witch.”  
“If he’s a witch, why don’t you appeal to that?”  
“No, we aren’t appealing to them,” Greenwood said. “We’ve already spent about ten hours in torture sessions.”  
“Ten… Ten hours…” Walsh said, about to loose his warm mentality. “We’ve only had them for twelve.”  
“Yes, so give me the drugs.”  
“What drugs?”  
“Whatever ones you think are going to work.”  
“We start slow. We can go with a light truth serum, and then add a booster if it doesn’t work. Then we work up from there,” Walsh said.  
“Alright, you go administer it.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Yes. I’m not going back in there,” Greenwood said. Walsh rolled his eyes. He prepped the needle and walked in.  
“BRITISH BASTARD!” Sam yelled, kicking against the straps that were wrapped around his legs. Walsh sat down in a chair, waiting for Sam to calm down. “Let me and my family go. You don’t want to see what I do when I get pissed.”  
“No, I don’t, Mr. Winchester,” Walsh sighed. Sam spit at him. “I can give you this truth serum. I was told to. Or I can just get answers without any sort of injection. It’s your choice, Mr. Winchester.”  
“I don’t have answers for you.”  
“Mr. Winchester, did you know how this building works? It’s a bunker, more or less. There’s Level F, the closest to the surface, and then Level A, the deepest. We’re on Level E. There was a risk assessment done for every single captive here. You were given second priority, meaning that you are equal to a werewolf or a moderately powerful witch. No offense, of course. Just a fact. Your taunts are not equal to your ability.”  
“Where’s my brother?”  
“Level F, of course. He’s mostly just rage,” Walsh said. “It was difficult to separate him from your angel friend, but eventually it happened. I imagine they’re very close. He didn’t want to leave his side. I can have them reunited for a short amount of time if you tell me some things. I would like to know about your little friend, the boy you had in the back seat of your car. I’d also like to get more information on what you were doing in England.”  
“I want proof when you follow through,” Sam said. Walsh nodded, looking toward the wall that he knew contained the observers. “Alright, we’re passing through England to get to Spain. We tried to avoid you guys, but clearly that didn’t work. That’s all we were doing here.”  
“Can you explain why your boy may have been registered for Level A?”  
“No. He’s just a kid. Your scanner made a mistake.”  
“Alright. Thank you,” Walsh said. He walked out the door. He handed the truth serum to Greenwood. “In case you need it.”  
“He didn’t tell the truth. He was lying.”  
“I’m not an interrogator,” Walsh said. “I’ve got patients to see, don’t I?” 

Walsh didn’t like Greenwood. He was replacing an old friend of Walsh’s after the gal had been labelled as ‘too ineffective’. He didn’t intend to be morose about it but he wished that she was still in charge. She had taught Walsh to take a soft approach. Greenwood only hit hard and hit fast. There was no logic or love put into it, just results. Walsh wanted to build trust, and make sure that everything was long term. 1319 was easily won over but still wavering. Walsh knew that he could continue to work on 1319, get him to give away information that Greenwood and Payne would never get out of the Winchesters. It would take longer, but it was more effective, and that was the only thing that really mattered to Walsh.  
Walsh brought a coffee with him down to Level A. He sat down on the floor, setting the bag with the cheese toastie and chips down on the floor in front of him and drank from his cup. Tom slowly came out of the corner, and reached into the bag, pulling out a chip. He turned it over in his hands, confused.  
“You Americans call those French Fries. We call them chips, and I believe they’re differently shaped there,” Walsh said. Tom nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out the cheese toastie- the english grilled cheese. Tom chewed on the edge, staring at Walsh. There wasn’t a look of mistrust anymore, but rather curiosity. “I’m a doctor here in Britian. I imagine being a hunter… you haven’t met too many doctors.”  
Tom nodded.  
“You tend to take care of your own, don’t you,” Walsh said. Tom nodded again. “We’ve been calling you Tom. You don’t have a name, it seems. Is Tom correct?”  
Tom shook his head.  
“Is it alright if I still call you that until you can tell me?” Walsh said. Tom nodded. Walsh glanced at the boy’s wrists. They had almost entirely healed. “You’re a very quick healer, Tom. You seem to be very powerful. Can I guess what you are? Are you a witch? No? Alright, are you an angel… no? Are you a god?”  
Tom thought about that question, then picked up a fry. He motioned like he was writing with it in the air.  
“I’m sorry, I can’t give you a pencil. It’s against the rules,” Walsh said. Tom frowned. He grabbed the ketchup container and dipped his finger in. He wrote out an N then looked up at Walsh. Walsh shrugged. E. P. H. I. Tom ran out of sauce.  
“Nephi.” Walsh said. “Nephil.”  
Tom nodded.  
“You’re one of the Nephilim. Interesting.”  
“The…” Tom whispered, pointing to his chest.  
“You’re the only one?” Walsh said. Tom nodded. “I’ve never met one before, in all my years working as a Man of Letters.”  
Tom’s eyes lit up. He pointed to himself.  
“You’re a Man of Letters?” Walsh asked. Tom nodded. “Your parent must be too.”  
“Dead,” Tom said hoarsely.  
“I’m sorry,” He said. “You must live with the Winchesters.”  
Tom nodded vigorosely.  
“Do you want me to find them?”  
Tom nodded even faster, hitting the floor with his free hand.  
“Alright. Do you know where they are?”  
Tom shook his head.  
“Where were they last?”  
Tom made a movement as if he was turning a steering wheel. “Ca-”  
“Where were they going?”  
“Crypt,” Tom said. “North!”  
“That’s brilliant, Tom. Do you know why?”  
“Find…” Tom motioned up and down. He frowned, standing up. He mimicked a javelin.  
“A Javelin?” Walsh asked. Tom looked confused. He did it again, pretending he was throwing a long stick.  
“Are you telling me they’re looking for a spear of some sort?”  
“Yes,” Tom said excitedly. He winced, touching his throat.  
“It’s alright, you rest. I’ll go find them,” Walsh said. Tom smiled.  
“Thank…” Tom said. 

“The Winchesters and the angel were heading to Scotland to find a crypt that contains a magical spear,” Walsh said dryly. Payne stared at him, then looked at Greenwood. “1319 is a Nephil. That’s why we couldn’t classify him. We’ve never registered one before.”  
“And you got this information…”  
“From Tom. He’s a lovely boy, if you took the time to talk to him. I don’t believe he knows much else. He was eager to tell me what he knew on the lie that I would try to find the Winchesters for him. He believes that they’ve gone on without him. He doesn’t seem to be aware of us.”  
“It’s possible that Tom is actually Subject 1206,” Cole said, looking up from her laptop. “We have an account claiming of Nephilim from Mick Davies backed up by Rawlings from a few years ago. They encountered a pregnant woman named Kelly Kline who was associated with the Winchesters. That baby could be Tom. Nephilim in lore are shapeshifters.”  
“Brilliant, Cole. Send me everything related to that file,” Walsh said. Greenwood looked temperamental. “What?”  
“Now we’re stuck in a rut with the Winchesters. In order to move forward with Sam in any way, we have to put Dean and the angel back together, because of you.”  
“That’s not a problem, is it? You know the pair has a close bond. It would be easier to manipulate them together than apart,” Walsh said coldly. “Wouldn’t it? Put them back together, threatened to separate them for information, see what happens.”  
“And what if this gambit doesn’t pay off?”  
“Well, it’s Payne’s issue, isn’t it?” Walsh said. “Cole, I want you to come down with me tomorrow.”  
“What?” Cole looked confused.  
“We’re going to get Tom on our side.”

“Hello Tom!” Walsh said happily, walking in. Cole followed him awkwardly. Tom looked at her, his eyes wide. “This is Emilia Cole. She’s our researcher.”  
“Hello,” Tom said, barely looking up from his knees. Walsh looked back at Cole. She was dressed in a light grey sweater and white patterned dress, her hair down, the opposite of how she usually dressed. They sat down in the middle of the room.  
“I wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright,” Cole said, placing her clipboard in her lap. Tom nodded. “Can you say your name?”  
“J…” Tom tried to say it, but faltered.  
“That’s alright. How old are you?”  
Tom held up three fingers.  
“Wow. You’re rather big for three, aren’t you? Do you have any illnesses or allergies we need to know about?”  
Tom shook his head.  
“Okay. Am I correct in the matter that you were ill at some time? That you suffered from a long term illness in the past?”  
Tom nodded.  
“Alright. Was it caused by an injury?”  
Tom nodded, pointing to his neck, the other side where there were no marks.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You had that at two years old, correct? You were in the hospital.”  
Tom nodded.  
“Was your mom ever in the hospital?” Cole asked. Tom paled. He shook his head.  
“She passed away, didn’t she? Do you know what she was sick with?” Cole asked. Tom’s face was now a pale pink, tears welling in his eyes. “Oh, no… baby, I’m sorry.”  
“It’s alright, Tom. You’re doing fine,” Walsh said kindly. “We only want to make sure that you won’t be sick, alright? Because if you’re sick, we need to help you.”  
“I’m… not,” Tom said, breathing deeply. He shuddered. “Mom…”  
“Don’t talk if you can’t, sweetheart,” Cole said. Halfway through sweetheart, Tom burst into tears. “Oh, no! What did I say?!”  
“Mary,” Tom said. “Mary… named… me… sw..”  
“I’m so sorry, Tom. Come here,” Cole said. She hugged Tom, her light brown hair falling against his shoulder.  
“J- Jack,” He whispered. “My name is Jack.” 

“Hey, Sam,” Walsh said cooly. It had been a few days since he had last seen the younger brother. Sam was still strapped down to the table, his fists clenched. “I have some news for you. Your little friend downstairs… Jack… he told us everything, so there’s no point in lying anymore. I want to do a little test today to see if we’re still going to be acting like this. I’m going to give you a truth serum. It’s not really a truth serum, but it helps you talk.”  
“Eat my ass,” Sam said. Walsh sighed, flicking Sam’s neck. He pressed the needle in and pushed. Sam’s breath quickened, his fists tightining.  
“Alright. What is the spear? Why are you looking for it?”  
“Eat… my… ass,” Sam said.  
“Sam, I’ve delievered on everything you’ve asked for,” Walsh said.  
“You haven’t delivered on anything,” Sam said. Walsh glared at the one sided glass.  
“I will ensure that what I promised is delivered,” Walsh said. “Now. The Spear. Where is this crypt located?”  
“C- ah-,” Sam strained against his restraints.  
“Just say it. It’s alright, Sam.”  
“Castlehill, Scotland. North. It’s Crowley’s.”  
“Crowley?”  
“Demon,” Sam said. “His body was buried there. He made a crypt. Hid a spear. We need to give the spear to a friend. It’s an exchange.”  
“What friend, Sam?”  
“M… Michael,” Sam coughed. “Michael.”  
“Michael?” Walsh said. “The Archangel?”  
“Yes. We broke his lance. Need… the spear.”  
“What does the spear do?”  
“It… ahhhhhhrgh,” Sam kicked against the straps. Walsh sighed.  
“I’ll let this settle in your system, Sam. I’ll be sending someone soon to check up on you,” Walsh said. He walked away. Greenwood was smiling.  
“Brilliant. That was it. That’s what we needed,” Greenwood said. Walsh looked back through the glass at Sam, who was struggling, still fighting for freedom.  
“Yeah. Could you reintroduce the angel and the older brother?” Walsh said. “I asked you to do that yesterday.”  
“We did. It didn’t go well,” Greenwood said.  
“What do you mean?” 

“Oh,” Walsh said. “This is why I hate Doctor Oliver.”  
“I’m… right here,” Doctor Oliver said. Walsh looked down at Dean’s bruised face. Walsh walked over to the glass, down into the white room, blood smearing the floor.  
“What happened?”  
“We reintroduced them and they were fine. We came to separate them and, well, the Winchester beat up two of our agents and the other is in critical care. He had a scalpel on him. We drugged him again and pulled him out.”  
“How did you let him get ahold of something like that? Why didn’t you knock them out before you tried to move them? Did you not learn anything?” Walsh snapped. “Where is the angel?”  
“He was injured,” Oliver said coldly. “Once we removed Dean, he was trying to get out. An agent opened the door and he made a run for it. Agent Prem managed to subdue him by stabbing him in the leg.”  
“You are all idiots,” Walsh said.  
“Just to inform you, Walsh, we got an order this morning. They’re moving 1319 and 1340 to the larger facility in Haverville,” Doctor Oliver said. Walsh blanched.  
“What?”  
“I heard from Greenwood. He said not to tell you but I felt it was of interest. He said that 1319 was requested by HQ and that they’re already prepping to move him.”  
“When?”  
“3:00. Half hour,” Doctor Oliver. “You can’t hate me anymore. I warned you.”  
Walsh rushed to the elevator but his ID was declined. Instead, he turned to the stairwell and rushed down the three flights. At the bottom, he swiped his card. Rejected. Walsh ran back up the stairs to Level F, determined to reach Greenwood before it was too late, to do anything for his case. As he slammed open the door, he saw that Greenwood wasn’t in his own chair but rather on the other side of the desk, and an old graying man was sitting in his place.  
“Doctor Walsh,” Director Hadleigh said cooly. “Sit down.”  
“I’ve been working with 1319 for three days. He has not recovered from being shot in the neck by Greenwood’s team. He needs to stay here.”  
“We were just discussing 1319, Doctor Walsh,” Hadleigh sat back, adjusting his glasses. “Ever since he entered this facility, he has been filmed. All of your interactions have been uploaded into the Men of Letters’ database. You’re very well composed and you’ve gained his trust, which is very good for us. However, we don’t need that from 1319. I’m afraid after observing I’ve realized that 1319 would be better fit to the Headquarter’s mission rather than yours.”  
“My mission is the Men of Letters’ mission. Irradicating monsters.”  
“Yes, but we have very different ways of going about it, Doctor Walsh. I would like for you to be able to say goodbye to 1319 and introduce him to Mr. Haworth. Make it as nice as possible… before he goes away. Soften the blow.”  
“What about the others?”  
“The angel and Dean Winchester? That’s up to Director Greenwood,” Hadleigh said. “Dean Winchester will be facing justice for the deaths of various Men of Letters agents, I presume. The angel will likely be spared. We’ve sent a team to retrieve items from the crypt which will be added to our collection. Sam Winchester will be kept in an attempt to persuade him to our side.”  
“What are you planning to do to 1319?”  
“Better not to know, Doctor Walsh,” Hadleigh said. “Would you like to say goodbye?”  
“No,” Walsh said. He had already given too much of his motive away.  
“I think you should join us, Walsh,” Greenwood said. Walsh swallowed. Hadleigh smiled at him, a look in his cold eyes that told Walsh he knew that Walsh had already dove too deep.  
“I may,” Walsh said.  
“Brilliant,” Hadleigh said, standing up. He adjusted his suit and walked to the door. “Well, don’t sit there. Let’s go.” 

“Haworth, PhD,” Haworth said, reaching out to shake Walsh’s hand. Walsh didn’t take it, looking down at Haworth’s pale hand with distaste. They were standing in the terminal behind the board and wall of glass. A large truck sat in the center, sitting on the rails. Walsh had seen this happen a few times before. He usually didn’t go to these movings. He usually didn’t care.  
“They’re moving 1340 at 4:00 so they’ve got to get moving,” Cole said quietly. Walsh looked at her. Her face was blank, her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun.  
“Do you know what they’re planning for 1319?”  
“No,” Cole said. She looked at the back of Director Hadleigh’s head, her ears back lightly, lines curving around them. She seemed anxious, but she wouldn’t show it.  
“Hey, I’m Haworth, PhD,” Haworth said, smiling at Cole. Walsh met her eyes, and he could see her disdain, hidden but present.  
“Cole, can you come with me?” Greenwood said. Cole looked slightly relieved as she followed Greenwood out of the room. Now it was just the director, Haworth, and Walsh. He looked down at his palms, his eyes following the lines, wishing he could openly protest, stop them from moving 1319. Do anything.  
“Doctor Walsh, you’ve been an important member of the Men of Letters for many, many years. You’re the top doctor at this location. You’ve studied all types of animals and monsters during your time with us. So it is sad that your friend, Emilia Cole, will no longer be with us.”  
“What?” Walsh looked up, confused and frightened.  
“Yes. While my people were going through the tapes, they noticed something. A few days ago, you and Ms. Cole went down to Level A to see 1319. While she was there, she hugged it. An hour later, an agent found a pen in the room. They reported it, and we quickly began an investigation. It was discovered that it was, in fact, Ms. Cole’s pen. We found her writings of how she wanted to take down the Men of Letters from the inside. I know you and Ms. Cole were friends, were you not?”  
“Apparently I didn’t know her well enough,” Walsh said.  
“Ah. So you’d be pleasantly aware that Ms. Cole will be executed,” The Director said. Walsh spiraled inside, a feeling like being underwater but somehow still able to breath, the surface just inches away but never within reach. On the outside, he was slient.  
“Oh,” Walsh said simply.  
“I was concerned that you were conspiring with her, but now I see that you were not. Good, Walsh. I wouldn’t want to loose a mind like yours,” Hadleigh said. Walsh unclenced his fist, knowing that it could give him away. He had no idea… Emilia had never mentioned… he hadn’t seen it. He could barely believe it. She had always been too nice, nicer than everyone else. She had always been too kind. She had named 1319. She had tried to help him.  
“Is 1319 staying then?” Walsh said.  
“Oh, no. It is being transferred,” Hadleigh said. “Don’t worry. You’ll find a new pet soon enough. I’m sure you’ll make due with that injured angel.”  
“Yes, I’m sure.”  
“Ah, there they are,” Hadleigh said. Walsh’s blood went cold. Cole was walking beside Greenwood, her hair pulled back into a little bun, her brown eyes surveying. Greenwood stopped in front of the glass, pulling out a gun. He fired one shot. Cole collapsed out of sight. Walsh felt his stomach turn. “Well, that situation is dealt with. Onto the next.”  
The Director walked out of the room. Haworth gave Walsh a look. “Are you coming?”  
“Yes,” Walsh said. He looked back at Greenwood, who was standing there, motionless, the gun that he had just killed Emilia Cole with by his side. They walked out onto the cement. Emilia’s body was already gone. Greenwood approached them, nodding. The four of them walked up to the loading deck. Greenwood checked his watch.  
“They should already be up here with 1319,” He said. “They had issues with getting it in there. You should have seen it. Screaming and pleading, all quiet-like. Scared shitless.”  
“It was rather emotional,” Walsh said. He was still thinking of Cole. His friend. His ally.  
“Finally,” Greenwood said. The plates slid open, revealing the shaft that the containers rose from during shipment. A container rose with the letters A1319 printed in red on the roof. It was rather small and coffin-like, only that the sides were transparent and clear, through thick layers of glass. Jack had a look of someone who had just lost their balance, his arm out, his eyes wide. The other arm was tucked up against his chest. The container jolted and his arm flew out to keep himself steady. The container stopped, still. Jack pressed his other hand against the glass, looking down at Walsh with fear in his eyes.  
“Introduce Haworth, won’t you?” Greenwood said, handing Walsh a headset. Walsh slowly adjusted it, walking up to the container. It was more or less a capsule, or a coffin. Walsh wasn’t sure how they expected the kid or anyone, really, to be comfortable during the drive. It wasn’t too far, but it was still far enough.  
“Hello 1319. This is Haworth. He’s going to be looking after you now,” Walsh said. Jack looked at Haworth and then back at Walsh, tears in his eyes. What about me? What about your promise? What about my family? “Trust them, they have your best interests at heart.”  
Walsh pulled down the microphone. “What else should I say?”  
“You’re good. Thank you, Walsh,” Greenwood said. Haworth took the headset. Walsh looked up at Jack, who was gripping his throat, tears falling down his face. Walsh felt something growing inside of him. It wasn’t uncertainty. It wasn’t an emotion he could describe. It felt like sadness, fear, love, hate... He could feel something at he met Jack’s eyes. Haworth’s voice faded away. Everything around him faded into nothing. It was a call. Jack was calling someone, and he was letting Walsh hear. Jack seemed to be saying ‘run, while you still can, run’.  
“Hey, Walsh, we’re moving,” Greenwood snapped. The container stuttered to life and began moving down the tracks to the armored truck. Walsh felt cold sweat trickle down his back. He turned away and walked back into the facility, just as the doors to the truck closed. 

Walsh felt as if he were in a trance but he knew every move he was making was his own. He felt Cole with him in every step. She watched him, her hand in his open, empty hand. He knew which door he had to open. He opened Sam’s first. Sam was still strapped to the table, angry and defiant. Walsh pulled the straps away silently.  
“Why are you helping me?” Sam asked.  
“Go get your brother and your angel,” Walsh said. Sam raced away to find them. Walsh walked down the stairwell to the lowest level. Jack’s cage was empty, but the others were still filled. Walsh methodically opened each one, and they ran toward the stairwell that he had propped open with a pen, stuck between the door and the lock. Once Level A was done, it seemed that all the doors were being opened. Walsh walked upward, past the chaos, past everything. He felt as if Cole was protecting him, casting a halo around him.  
The alarms began to blare. Walsh finally reached the surface. Someone had already killed the guards. The lockdown had been broken. The doors hadn’t shut. Walsh walked outside, into the cool air. Monsters, creatures, people… they all ran past him, oblivious to his presence. The truck took off. Walsh reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun, firing at the wheels. His shots bounced off. He needed a bigger gun. It didn’t matter anyways. The truck had stopped, dead. A young man with sandy blonde hair walked to the back and the doors burst open. Walsh walked toward him, swiping the access card against the container. The blonde man looked at him with weary blue eyes. This was the man Jack had summoned.  
The container opened and the man helped Jack down. Jack looked at Walsh sadly, hugging the blonde haired man. He was still wearing the coat Walsh had bought him. They didn’t exchange any more words as Dean was racing toward them with the angel… Castiel. And then Sam arrived. He gave Walsh one last glance before all five of them vanished. Walsh turned and saw the chaos. There were many dead agents lying on the ground, their skulls bashed in or their blood drained. Director Hadleigh was lying on the ground, something invisible ripping into his back. The blonde haired man had reappeared. He met Walsh’s eyes for one second, a deathly glare that Walsh knew meant it was over. He ran.  
He hadn’t been far enough before the explosion ripped through the Earth, sending Walsh into the air. He couldn’t hear anymore. It was silent. He opened his eyes staring at the leaves, a sharp pain in his back. Shrapnel. Cole was gone.  
“WALSH!” Greenwood screamed. Sound burst back into Walsh’s ears as a gunshot ricochetted over his head. “WALSH, YOU BASTARD!”  
Walsh knew he was nearly out of bullets but he still lifted it upwards toward Greenwood’s distant, blurry form. He focused on his hand, his finger on the trigger.  
“This will hurt,” Walsh muttered. He fired. Everything went black. 

“Good day, Walsh,” Emilia Cole said, standing by the entrance to the headquarters like she always had. She followed him inside. She looked like she always had, her beautiful brown eyes, her little smile. “No good day today?”  
“I’m sorry, Emilia. There’s something on my mind,” Walsh said.  
“What type of something?” She asked. “Tell me. Don’t be a tease.”  
“I don’t… what?” Walsh asked. He usually felt pent up in this place, but today it was empty. It was just him and Emilia Cole. She seemed more comfortable too, as if she were returning home after a hard day of work.  
“They really had us, didn’t they?”  
“Huh?”  
“Oh, everyone with that big prank. I almost thought I was dead,” She laughed. Walsh stared at her.  
“I think we are dead,” Walsh said.  
“Of course we are, that was a joke, Walsh. Lighten up,” Emilia said. Walsh smiled softly, unsure of how to feel about it. “You made it to Heaven.”  
“1319…”  
“Jack.”  
“They made it?”  
“They didn’t come here! I think they went home. It seems that Michael didn’t care all that much about the spear. It was destroyed in the explosion.”  
“Did I kill Greenwood?”  
“I don’t know,” Emilia said. “It doesn’t matter to me.”  
“What was the point of the pen? Was it worth your life?”  
“Yes, and yes.”  
“Why, though? Why give up your life for a pen?”  
“They were going to kill me even if I didn’t do it. They already knew. I just wanted to go out doing something good. Plus, it was a nice pen.”  
“But… why?”  
“Jack used the pen to write a summoning sigil on his arm. It was covered by his jacket. He activated it when he was in the best position to. He summoned Michael. You freed everyone.”  
“Did you know that he was going to do that?”  
“No. I left my hope in him.”  
“How do you hope so much, Emilia?”  
“If there’s no hope, there’s nothing left,” Emilia said quietly. “As long as hope survives, life survives.”  
“So that’s it? That’s the end of the story?”  
“It’s only the end of the story if the story is about you,” Emilia smiled. She took Walsh’s hands, looking into his eyes. They hugged. Walsh felt her hair under his hand, a wave of joy washing over him. They were free.


End file.
